Page 21 of Edge of Wonder

The man coughed, rousing to a seated position. “Do you smell smoke?”

Smoke?

He was right. There was an acrid scent in the air, and it was growing stronger.

“Fire! Fire!” the man shouted, scrambling woozily to his feet.

Flames licked up the side of an easel and inched toward a stack of canvases. But I didn’t care about the blaze, all I cared about was the slip of paper smoldering in a puddle of melted wax.

I sagged against the wall and let out a shaky laugh. My head tilted back, and I stared up at the ceiling as relief washed over me.

Smart, brave, beautiful girl.

She’d broken the bonding spell by herself, sending her back to the cottage. I looked to where the spirit cage had fallen and saw what my tormented mind had missed. The symbols on the lid were dark, confirming it hadn’t imprisoned a ghost.

The man beat at the flames with a rag until they were extinguished. Sweat beaded his skin, and he puffed out a weary breath as he searched the room.

“Did it work? Is she gone?” He moved to pick up the spirit cage.

“Don’t touch it,” I snapped, confiscating the device and slipping it into my bag. “You don’t even know what you’re doing with that thing. It’s not a toy. It’s for experienced ghost hunters only.” The smaller man protested but clamped his mouth shut beneath my rigid stare.

He tugged nervously at his waistcoat. “I—I recognize you. You’re the famous ghost hunter Andrew hired.” He held out an unsteady hand. “The name’s Warren Rabbit. I’m a big fan! I’ve read all about your exploits. I even consider myself an amateur spirit enthusiast. At least, I used to until I met that cursed entity.”

“Cursed entity?” I asked, refusing to shake his hand.

“Yes, Alice. That ghost has brought me nothing but misfortune since the moment I saw her in Julian Granger’s cottage. I don’t know how she did it, but she’s invaded my dreams—except they aren’t dreams! They’re nightmares.”

Nightmares?His words stopped me cold. No, it wasn’t possible. It had to be a coincidence. Otherwise—

Warren slashed his arm through the air, almost knocking over another easel. “I couldn’t take them anymore. I had to end my suffering. It’s not just the dreams. Look around you! There are paintings from floor to ceiling, but I can’t sell a single one. My customers want bowls of fruit and family portraits. Maybe even pastoral farms or seascapes. But I can’t paint anything besides these bizarre landscapes.” Warren mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and sank bitterly onto a wooden stool. “I needed her gone, and the only way was to release her from her eternal fate.”

“With a spirit catcher?” A rush of anger refocused my attention. “That device is the equivalent of a bear trap, except far more torturous and permanent.”

“It is?” The man’s voice wavered. “I didn’t want to hurt her. The vendor I purchased the device from said it would be painless.”

“Well, it’s not.”

Warren hung his head. “What a mess. I had hoped the urge to paint those scenes would go away over time, but it only got worse after I received the package from the witch.”

My suspicions returned, icing my blood with dread. “What package?”

“The one with the key and that damned clock necklace.”

“Do you still have the items?”

Warren nodded. “They were sent to me after Julian died. Along with a card. At first, I thought it was a twisted joke, and I almost tossed them away. But you don’t cross a witch. I thought maybe if I followed the rules, my nightmares would end, and things would go back to normal.”

“There are rules?”

He launched off the stool and searched through a cabinet, pulling out a wooden box. “I’m supposed to hand over the items to a man searching for Alice. It’s his destiny, or so the note says. It’s all very cryptic.” He frowned and thrust the box into my hands. “But it doesn’t matter to me whether you’re him. You’re a man and you’re here because of Alice. That’s close enough for me. The box is your problem now.”

It felt like I’d stepped into a snare, and I was dangling by my feet, waiting for the hunter to return. My heart pounded as I held the box. There was a card attached to the lid. It had been folded into a square with the wordsopen me, scrawled across the top.

I unfolded the card, my jaw tight from what I suspected I’d find inside. The surface of the paper shimmered in the lantern light, and not only did I recognize the handwriting on the note, but there was only one person I knew who dusted her business cards with glitter. In crisp, clear letters, I read the name of the shop emblazoned on the card: Daniels’ Curses, Cures, and Crimes.

Aunt Tessa had left her calling card. Written under the shop’s name, she’d scribbled a note.

Buried beneath the begonias!

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